


The Chameleon Affair

by hollowgrackle



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Chameleon Arch (Doctor Who), Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:20:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowgrackle/pseuds/hollowgrackle
Summary: Investigating a strange energy fluctuation, the Torchwood crew meet university professor John Smith and his bizarre wife Missy.--Jack doesn't recognize the Doctor. And the Doctor doesn't even know who the Doctor is.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Chameleon Affair

The alien business can lead you to strange places. Fields. Clubs. Back alleys. Backyards. Sometimes schools. And sometimes pleasant English townhouses with pleasant English furniture... with a furious Scotsman in the middle of it all. 

“Weeks of wooshing and rattling and calling in complaints to get someone down here.” The old man started, the accent and the wild eyebrows making him seem somehow meaner than he already was. “And they send Captain Jawline and his pluton of black leather-wearing—“

“ _Captain Jawline_?” Gwen pipped up from the side. Jack was beginning to think they knocked on the wrong door. He moved forward, putting himself between the man and Gwen. If any of the team were to attempt to have it out with the rude old man he’s sure it would’ve been Gwen Cooper. 

“Jack Harkness.” He put a hand forward. “But Jawline works too. I didn’t catch your name, Mr...”

“John Smith.” And when John Smith ignored the hand Jack put it back into his trouser pocket with a handsome smile.

“Mr. Smith. Hey, I know a guy that goes by that name.” _Sometimes._ “You mind if we ask you a few questions?” 

“Well I’ve got one. Which of you is the plumber?” John gestured between them, and then hunched forward and tapped his long fingers against his chin. “Because you know, I can’t imagine you fixing sinks in a coat like that.” 

“Sir.” Gwen started, calm, although Jack’s sure she was ready to ditch this house the second she decided this was fruitless. “Mr. Smith, we’re not plumbers. Like he said we’ve just got a few questions we’d like to ask you—“ 

“How much longer have I got to live hearing the pipes bursting above my head all hours.” John moved, retreating back to a flowery looking armchair in the corner. “The constant— the noise. _Listen._ Can’t you hear that?”

No. In fact, for a London street it was pretty quiet. Quiet and pleasant like the furniture. And unlike the old Scotsman sitting on it. 

“Have you called a plumber?” Owen asked, and Gwen nearly elbowed him for poking the dragon. 

“Have I called— no, you know. I hadn’t thought of that. Calling a plumber to look at the plumbing.”

Just then, the front door opened and a woman in a somewhat flashy purple suit stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, staring at Jack, and then flickering a look to the rest of the Torchwood ground team. “Well. John, you didn’t tell me you were having friends over!” 

Also Scottish, Jack noted. 

She dropped a pair of keys into a dish by the door and pushed her way through Gwen and Owen to reach John. “You didn’t tell me you _had_ friends.” She planted a kiss on his forehead, leaving a smear of red lipstick which John wiped off with his sleeve.

“No friends of mine. They’re not here to fix the pipes.” 

“Oh shoosh!! You old cat. There’s nothing wrong with the pipes.” She sat herself on the arm of his chair, reaching around his shoulder in an overly friendly hold. “Always going on about the bloody pipes, this one. He’s taken the kitchen sink apart four times you know. Twice by his own hands. I’ve had to hide the tool kit!”

To Jack’s surprise John’s irritation had melted, in part, into embarrassment. His hand reached up to hold the woman’s, looking away. 

The woman, on the other hand, was grinning directly at their guests. “Right! Well go on. What are you selling then?” 

“We’re not-“ Gwen started, but was cut off. 

“It was a joke, dear.” She rolled her eyes. 

“And you must be Mrs. Smith.” Jack clarified, putting on the charm. 

“You can call me Missy... Well someone should put the kettle on, shouldn’t they.” She waited, and when John didn’t immediately volunteer himself she pushed him slightly until he got the hint and excused himself. She took his seat. 

“There’s a good boy!” She watched him until he disappeared into the kitchen and then fixed her attention onto Jack again. “...you’re here about the creature.” Her voice was lower now. More serious. 

Jack, Owen, and Gwen looked at each other. After the display with John earlier they weren’t expecting so straight forward an answer. But also, they weren’t expecting a creature. 

Alarms went off on Tosh’s computer that morning. Strange readings in the area. Energy that the computers could barely recognize and weren’t sure how to measure. They didn’t know what they were looking for, honestly. An alien… An alien artifact, maybe. Radio interference from another galaxy. “Mrs. Smith--”

“Missy. And oh please keep your voice down. He’s had bad run-ins with aliens in the past. We try not to dwell on it.” She propped her head up on her hand, looking into the direction of the kitchen. “This face looks so tired, doesn’t it...”

“You mentioned a creature. Can you describe?” Jack pressed on.

Missy gave herself a moment. “Big, green, ugly... had a metal chest and a toilet plunger for an arm. Oh, and it was small. But big.... potato head... looked a bit, I don’t know, purple...ish. With spots. Like one of those dogs.”

She was speaking nonsense. 

There was a shout from the kitchen, John clarifying the tea order. 

“Don’t worry about it, darling! They’re leaving!!” Missy shouted back. Jack decided not to argue. There was something strange about Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Perhaps they should regroup.

“Thank you.” Jack let slip another handsome smile. “You’ve been very helpful.” 

And Missy grinned back, getting up to lock the door behind them. After which her persona melted, sneering slightly and meeting her husband in the kitchen. He held out a mug to her and she accepted it. “Yes. Lovely.” She stared at him. “You know, after all the trouble I don’t like this house at all. I think we should go on vacation."

“It’s the middle of the semester.” John reminded, pressed against the counter. 

“Yes, but I think we both could use a month on a paradise planet. Get diamond massages by the infusion pits. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a drink? A good, proper drink. Not the drivel they have in this part of the galaxy.” 

“What?”

“Nothing, dear.” She set the tea down, looking at her empty wrist. “Oh, look at the time. I’ve got to get to work.” 

John seemed to bristle. “You just got in.” 

“Nothing gets past you, does it. Don’t miss me too much!” She jumped up, holding his face and pecking him on the nose before disappearing through a door in the hallway. 


End file.
